Ink & Flesh
by eighty-four
Summary: A heartbroken Frank relives his relationship with a confused but loving Gerard. For Gerard, love is dead and impossible to decipher. For Frank, love is freedom and second chances.


**Ink & Flesh: Someone Like You**

The summer day had been reduced to wicked embers, pungent with the remnants of floral breezes and damp skin. The pavement itself seemed to sweat. But the heat was lifting, the mirage of heat waves being purged through the cracks in the sidewalk. The sky was this tantalising shade of summer, watercolour washing from inoffensive blues to the most vibrant of oranges, almost neon. It was intoxicating and, coupled with the delicious sweet smell, sent everyone into dizzying spells of unanticipated romance.

He was walking hurriedly, though, entirely alone, his head bowed as if trying to dodge all the joy in the air. All that could be seen was a pair of battered (obviously) sneakers, white flesh poking out of two seemingly-organic rip holes and a lawn of tuft black hair. He was dodging everyone, the crowds getting thicker the deeper into the town he went, the crowds getting longer and slightly more restless with each crumbling building he passed. These kinds of small towns were a rare breed; both incredibly dirty and impoverished yet thriving and so incredibly alive; the irreverent cockroach of all places. It was literally an eroding town; each building, club, bar and shop seemed to be decaying, reeking of piss and cheap cigarettes. It was the kind of town that existed only in clichés of punk rock songs, the kinds of places Springsteen sung about. This was perhaps one of the last few in the US. There was a strange kind of magic in its graffitied walls and the desolate skate parks, a comic-book antiquity to the independent shops and perpetually empty record stores that, like old men with walking sticks, kept on going with no sign of dampening in their spirit.

All of this went unnoticed as the sneakers pounded the floor furiously, breathlessly. He finally reached the apartment building; thrusting its ugly self upon the ground yet was paradoxically photogenic, piercing the iridescent sky with its 120th floor. Luckily he lived on the 5th floor and it took a short matter of jumping and bouncing the concrete stairs until he reached his room, where, after a frantic search for keys and their welcoming tinkle, he arrived home.

Breathe in, and out. The place was a mess to say the least, but he hadn't been here for a few days. The plates were stacked precariously on the once-white sink, the old food blurring into a threatening shade of orange. It didn't smell too bad, at least, just a damp stench of wetness that was almost welcoming. A homely smell. But Frank wouldn't have cared anyway. It wasn't home, it wasn't where the heart was, but it was where the heart could break. In peace.

Breathe in and out again. Rhythmically, there does it. Like a drum beat. But his heart was still racing, the irrefutable pain in his chest paired with the semi-marathon he had just power-walked made him dizzy with breathlessness. His hands were still shaking, the tattoos resembling black blurs as his eyes filled with tears. After one long exhale, he let the pain and realisation hit him. Like a truck. Like every cliché. It was as if the sun had just been frozen inside his chest. Heavy and cold. The tears began to stream effortlessly down his face, hot and salty, his hands couldn't catch them and he clutched and grabbed at his head. In one solid fall, he collapsed on the floor and silently wept, the shuddering jolts of sobs catching in his throat and breaking awkwardly through his mouth. Maybe his fists pounded the floor, maybe his eyes sewed themselves shut they were crushed together so hard; maybe hours passed just lying there, endlessly. It was a tiring kind of pain, like a marathon, every new sob bought about a fresh sting. The aching in his oesophagus was acidic and throbbing. Everything was hot, angry and hurting.

Frank didn't know how long he spent on that floor, but, prising himself carefully out of bed, came to the realisation that everything was still broken. At least he had gotten himself into bed, so his bones weren't aching as much as they might have if he'd spent the night sprawled on a concrete floor. They still did. The silence was crying out to be broken and, as if on cue, a phone vibrated surreptitiously in a coat pocket. Frank leaped to his feet and in a state of panic, rummaged through several pockets unsuccessfully until he pulled out his cell. Caller ID: Brian. Was this who he wanted?

Who was there to want?

"Brian."

"Frank. Jesus, we've been calling you all night. You just took off, man, what the fuck? You've got a show to play tonight, or don't you remember?"

"Yeah, I know, I was... sick. Needed to get back. I'm sorry." The apology tasted metallic in his mouth.

"Well, fuck, dude, I can't just deal with that, this is the biggest show you are yet to play. Do you understand that? The biggest." This resulting in a tidal wave of nausea cascading in the pit of Frank's stomach. As if he needed that, on all of the mornings. The ache was worse than any hangover but now he could literally vomit.

"Fuck, Brian, I got it. I'll be where I got to be, dude. I don't let you down." His usually gravelly voice was higher, squeaking with suppressed rage.

"You better fucking are or I will tear you apart. Oh and Gerard said you need to call him."

The sound of his name was like the crash of timpani in Frank's ears. A thunderbolt shattered through his chest.

"Whatever. I'll see you at the sound check." He hung up, making sure his hostility resonated in his icy goodbye.

This much was true, and this much he needed to know but couldn't find the words to articulate. Frank had to see, work with, play, feign friendship and contentment with... him. He who must not be named...(but we watched the 6th movie in the cinema together when it came out) He had to see him, make music with him, hug him before they went out on stage (but when we touch I feel like) It was impossible to imagine this. His mind blocked out his face and everything attached to him, a titanium barrier ringing as it smashed down in his head. But he couldn't just lock it out, memories weren't like pieces of paper you can burn or chuck in a safe, they were precious and impossible to forget, they were the smell of his skin, the Goosebumps that even now never failed to cover his body, they were the rush in his heart and the tears that still burned furiously in his eyes.

He needed to articulate this, solidify it. Make it mean something.

Gerard had left him for a female art student whose name Frank didn't know.  
>Gerard had left him for a female art student.<br>Gerard had left him for a female.  
>Gerard had left him.<p>

But had he left? There was no place to leave. How could he have left if there was nothing to leave? Frank and him would fuck occasionally and cuddle in the flimsy bunk bed in the tour vans. They would hold hands under the tables in crummy restaurants. They wouldn't gaze at each other lovingly or whisper sweetly under the covers. They wouldn't make plans or go on dates or introduce each other to parents. No one knew of their affair; a few drunken public misdemeanours were seen as obligatory. There were no concrete, tangible feelings between him and Gerard. It was casual.

No, Frank thought, not even I am that good at lying to myself. I don't know if Gerard is in denial or just in love with this girl and blinded by it, but what we had was real. I loved him. I love him. And Frank was pretty damn sure Gerard loved him too.

But the confusion was overwhelming, perplexing, suffocating. It would have been easy just to dismiss their affair as casual, fleeting and meaningless. But Frank wouldn't have needed to flee the scene the moment Gerard told him of his new girlfriend. He wouldn't be feeling like the afterthought of a bloody bruise. Things would make sense and he would laugh off the casual sex as fun while it lasted. But the indelible mark Gerard had left, these reopening scars, filled Frank with an irrefutable fear that maybe, maybe he _just couldn't live without him_. It wasn't even a battle cry, though. He felt no resentment towards some blonde or black haired tattooed twenty-something with boundless energy and small thighs. He didn't feel the need to _compete_ his affections. The longing in his chest was for some kind of validation; an answer, perhaps. If the rejection was absolute, maybe, it would have been easier. Frank couldn't bring himself to repeat what had happened, what had been said barely 12 hours previously, but it had been ambiguous. Half a breakup.

_12 hours previously _

"Shit, dude that was a fucking ace show!" Mikey called out to the rest of the band. Caked in sweat, they embraced each other haphazardly, faces buried into smelly orifices and perpetual smiles still plastered over the aching, shining faces.

"Gee, that was incredible. Best show yet." Frank said sincerely, his had placed resolutely on his shoulder. He made a point of looking directly into his eyes, something he rarely did to other people. Gerard's hazel eyes darted frantically away, muttering some gracious thanks.

"Cheers, Frankie, it was awesome..."He hurried away, face buried in a towel and a bottle of water hanging loosely from his dirty fingers. Naturally, Frank thought nothing of it and raced back to the changing rooms to wipe his face and rehydrate. It was only 8pm, the band had been opening for a big band in a venue just outside the city, and the night was still new and ready to be exploited.

"You want a beer, Gee?" Frank threw one at him, anticipating his affirmative. He knew him telepathically.

"Cheers, Frankie." They were alone now, in the small dressing room, accompanied only by the low hum of the refrigerator and the soft clicking of the light above them. It cast out cheap, clinical white light that was strangely comforting. Everything seemed to glow in the aftermath of a kick-ass show. Frank got up and went over to Gerard, wanting to take advantage of their stolen moment together. Gerard slumped, noticeably exhausted, into the couch in the dressing room. Frank laid his head on his shoulder, then turned to kiss him.

"Frank, not now."

He was being dismissed. This was not extraordinary; sometimes you're just not in the mood. Frank put a pseudo-cute puppy face on, expecting a small smirk and a quick kiss. Validation. Gerard turned on his heel and walked swiftly out of the room. Frank finished his beer and enjoyed the squashed comfort of the rotting sofa, then picked himself up to leave. Gerard came back into the room, looking white-faced yet determined, his stride into the room was urgent.

"Frank." He took a long breath in, held it and exhaled tensely. "I don't know how to start this. You and I ... whatever we are... can no longer be... There's a girl. She's beautiful and I really think we've got a chance."

Frank looked dumbfounded at first; a ghost of a smile still played about his lips, nothing had sunk in yet. Gerard's breath became ragged and frantic, his words were more fervent but less complete, his speech was broken and frenzied.

"Look, Frank, oh God, I really love you, I do but, this girl, she's incredible and I, y'know, I'm almost thirty, I need to start thinking about the future, we can't, y'know, _have_ a family... this sucks for me too, I didn't want to do it like this but, I guess we just.. have to stop."

Stop. "We have to stop." Frank reiterated, slowly and certainly, pronouncing all the words carefully. "We just stop."

There was a brief silence, dense and thick, cloying in the air between them. They were barely a metre apart.

"We just stop." Frank repeated. "So this, whatever this was to you, some fucking short-term booty call, 2 and a half years of fucking on the sly, to you? Yeah? I was nothing, some stupid slut to fulfil your needs while we toured?" His words became fragments, shards of rage permeating from the unsettling dread and anger swelling inside him. "I was just a bit of fun, huh. Is that right? Fucking answer me, Gerard, I did not waste 2 and a half years with you to be cut off like this!"

Gerard's face was blank. He didn't look speechless; just cautious, picking out his words carefully now, once his speech had been said.

"Frank. I don't know what to say. That's all I _can_ say. Lindsey is... I think I've got a future there."

Frank felt like he'd been sliced open with a chainsaw.

"So you don't have a future with me, was I some kind of time-killer? Filling space between shows? You're disgusting. You were nothing to me to, y'know that? Except I have a fucking _soul_ so I can't just stand here and lie to you. You mean fucking everything to me Gerard. No. Fuck you. Fuck this and fuck you."

His eyes were burning with the warmth of tears, the feelings he couldn't quite quell shaking inside the pit of his stomach until they were crawling up his chest, rising and falling in painful breaths that were becoming broken. He wanted to storm out and leave Gerard feeling cold and abandoned, but his feet wouldn't move.

"Frank. I need time to... think this through. Think us through. Consider this a hiatus. I still... I still care, Frankie."

"Don't you fucking dare call me that," Frank's voice had risen considerably and was breaking, as if in half, at the sound of the pseudo-pet name Gerard had for him. Gerard's eyes were glistening now, sparkling with the tears of his own guilt, perhaps, or the confusion mingled with the pain of seeing Frank's heart break in front of him.

"I can never hate you, Gerard. I'll never be able to hate you. But, fucking hell, I hate you. Answer me one question, and tell me the truth: did you sleep with her?" Frank didn't partially want to know the answer. There was no definitive answer in his head; no absolute trust had arisen in his head. He didn't know what to think but the hesitancy to doubt Gerard's seeming 'infidelity' was a betrayal in itself.

Gerard's face hardened for a second, his jaw locking, and then softened slightly. His eyes were cast downwards minutely, for just a millisecond, and then he looked Frank in the eye.

"Yeah, I've slept with her."

Frank was hardly surprised; actually, a sudden moment of lucidity justified this. It wasn't as if he'd guessed that Gerard was sleeping with someone else – nothing had seemed to change in their relationship – but then again, maybe he just wasn't paying attention. Maybe his touch had been softer, as if adjusting to the contours of a female silhouette, his kisses more tender than the desperate collisions to which Frank had become so helplessly addicted. Frank must have not been paying attention.

"Fuck you." Frank muttered in the smallest voice that could be audible. His eyes cast downwards, he picked up his bag and walked out, trying to suppress the nausea that was swelling inside him like the tide.

_Present_

It took a lot of difficulty in lacing his shoes. As if subconsciously trying to stall himself, everything became difficult and laborious. His jacket just wouldn't go over his sweatshirt; all of his clothes were dirty so he had to find new ones; everything was lost, broken or time consuming. Follow your heart, use your head. The head was abusing the heart. Or was it the other way around? But there were two reasons that Frank couldn't curl up on the sofa and cry himself into oblivion. The first was he wasn't a coward; there was no battle to be fought, he knew this, but to hide himself would mean sacrificing his dream of playing in a band but also not being the strong-willed, punk-ass kid with sheer balls that Gerard had (fallen in love with) met initially. The other reason was the profound belief that still rooted itself in his chest that he and Gerard were not doomed for some crummy breakup. He couldn't soothe himself with ice cream and bad movies; his sister would not be able to comfort him; a drunken oblivion would not comatose him out of the pain. His fear was that this was lasting. Permanent. The one that _definitely _got away. This notion was so frightening. The other concern that was beginning to present itself was the idea of never actually seeing Gerard again. Despite his current resentment, he stood by what he had said; he could never hate him. Gerard was so important to him; the taciturn, quirky comic-book kid that refused to talk to him for three weeks before getting the courage to say Frank was cute.

After a long effort, he was ready and by the door. Grabbing his iPod from the side, he violently threw the huge headphones on – stolen equipment from an old show in Chicago – and stuck it on shuffle, waiting for some kind of God-sent cinematic soundtrack to his heartache to play. The first song to play was Disintegration by The Cure. Semi-fitting, Frank thought, but long and intricate enough to lose himself in until he arrived at Ray's, where he would have to endure a 2-hour drive down to New York City. The band were playing Terminal 5 – a pretty big gig, a large crowd, currently sold out. The biggest show of their lives as a band. Frank was looking forward to it, but now it seemed like a chore, almost some kind of punishment for a crime committed in a previous life. Having to endure close proximity to Gerard, the rush of a live crowd, everything that was good in Frank's life juxtaposed with what had recently become the things most painful to him. Goddamn, he thought, how 12 hours could fuck things up.

_2 and a half years previously, summer, New Jersey_

"So, guy, this is Frank... he's in the band now." Ray stammered awkwardly, trying to undermine the introduction.

He stepped into the studio, bouncily, a grin stapled over his face, showing all his teeth. He was covered in tattoos and adorning his head was a mop of scruffy black hair. His ears were pierced and the two soft lines of his lips were interrupted by a lip ring that, in the haste of his incessant smiling, was at a forty-five degree angle to the lip. Gerard was struck immediately by how unconventionally pretty this boy was, and how boyish indeed he was. Even the way he walked, bopping on the balls of his feet, exuded boundless energy. There was a slight stutter in the percussion of Gerard's heartbeat, and he blushed discretely at his own embarrassment at this. He wasn't a teenage girl crushing on this punk kid from his town. He was a new guitar player, a good guitar player, which was going to take their band further. His cute demeanour was promising; at least he didn't look difficult to be friends with; a decent addition to the band.

"Yeah, I'm Frank, like... erm, Ray just said... I'm super psyched to play with you guys, you rock seriously." Despite Frank's obvious gushing, Gerard detected sincerity in his complimenting. His eyes weren't stony or closed, in fact they were warm and welcoming, but they made Gerard slightly uneasy in the sense that they were so determined. This was a guy that gave everything his heart and soul.

"So yeah, I've been playing since I was, like, 4, y'know since my fingers actually worked so... I hope I play well for you!" He sat down at this, as if he had just given a speech at a wedding. He perched on the edge of the seat, his legs still bouncing restlessly and his smile was still etched on his face. Gerard couldn't help but mirror his glee.

Ray had a business face on and turned to the rest of the band. "This is good news. The other good/bad news is that we're in the studio in a _week_, which is tight, we gotta turn it around."

The rest of the practice was hardly memorable for Gerard because he was utterly absorbed in Frank; not in a lustful kind of way (although he did slightly relish the teenage feelings), but simply because this was the kind of person Gerard was; focused and intent on deciphering new people. He was shy and quiet at first, but that was merely because his mind was working rapidly to try and read this guy's mind. It didn't hurt that he was unfathomably pretty too, and the speed with which he did everything, like some kind of tiny dog on cocaine, meant he was difficult to pin down. Frank's guitar playing was the antithesis of Ray's but magically, they managed to combine into this amazing amalgamation of music styles. Ray's fingers darted around the frets, off and on in trills and quick successions of notes whereas Frank's _entire hands_ moved like lightening effortlessly up and down the guitar. Even sitting down, writing parts, there was an unstoppable nature in his energy, his very being. Gerard just wanted to get to know him properly. If their band _was_ going places, they had to know either other, naturally. And with Gerard's attitude towards intense, irrefutable creativity and the boundaries they had to cross to get there, then he would have to know Frank inside out. With Mikey, it was easy; he was his brother, there was no exertion in knowing him. Ray was his best friend; a complete musical genius with modesty and quiet wit, complete integrity and dedication to everything. Matt, the drummer was a decent guy that didn't talk much but Gerard deduced that he didn't _need_ to talk much, as he didn't have much to say. Without being rude about simplicity, he was happy enough to play drums every night for the band and he played pretty well. Frank seemed to be of this same calibre; simply happy to play at any opportunity. The way he attacked each chord, attached himself to every hook and riff, was intoxicating to watch. His approach to playing was more ferocious, far less cautious and risky. Some of the chords sounded plain wrong when played alone but, combined with the melodies of Ray's playing, pulled off to create this hybrid punk sound of which everyone was supremely proud. Gerard's smile kept inching bigger each time.

The band broke off after an hour to get beers and coffees. Frank turned directly to Gerard.

"Lead singer, huh. So you're the dick of the band." Gerard could tell he was berating him, his eyes were joking.

"Yeah, I only do this to get laid," Gerard muttered, looking down from Frank's stare for fear of blushing even more.

"Sweet, dude! Do we get a lot of pussy?"

"Not that I'm aware of!" He chuckled. This band were a paradox of sorts; essentially a rock band, signed to a label, moving their way up, but, despite the endless beers, smokes and occasional joints, were a pretty standard group of guys. "Blame my Catholic upbringing," joked Gerard.

Frank's head was still nodding to a beat it seemed only he could hear.

"I'm being a sycophant but I'm so psyched for this. Like, with my old band, we'd listen to your demos while getting ready to play." Frank's gaze was cast down now; he held that mysterious sincerity again. Gerard felt uneasy within himself; he didn't want to embarrass either of them.

"Frank, dude, you're gonna make me blush. We're lucky to have you!" Gerard feared the conversation was going to become stilted and false and he was still utterly intrigued by this kid, five years his junior, and that strange paradox of being full of life and personality but impossible to figure out.

"I always get scared that I'll end up fat and alone and playing video games or reading comics the rest of my life. Playing is what keeps me going." His smile had faltered slightly; he was looking beyond Gerard's eyes as if wistfully staring at a future out of his reach.

"What's wrong with comic books?" Gerard questioned, falsely defensively.

"You are joking, right, I love comic books. Second to guitars, they are my biggest expense," he replied, the smile back in its full force. Frank gestured pointedly to his belt buckle: the Batman symbol. Gerard hadn't noticed (or was trying so hard _not _to notice and keep his gaze firmly above the waist.)

"Batman's the favourite?" Gerard had a soft spot for X-Men himself, but Batman was pretty rad too.

"Yeah, he's just the best, y'know? God I have so many Batman issues, it's a bit embarrassing." But Frank wasn't blushing at all. His face remained un-creased and glowed with the embers of his relentless smile.

"Y'know, I'm actually a comic book writer," Gerard stated, trying to retain some form of modesty. It was true, he was a trained artist and this was one rare occasion that he didn't have a sketchpad in hand. In fact, it was a rare occasion when he was distracted by something exciting enough to not cause him wanting to draw. I want to draw Frank, Gerard couldn't help himself thinking, somewhat absentmindedly. There was a softness to his jaw and his lips arched so discretely, so effortlessly, they were practically begging (to be kissed violently) to be languidly drawn with a pencil.

"Gerard, I said, what's your favourite?" Frank urged a little louder.

"Oh... er... X-Men. Gotta love it." Clearly Gerard had evidenced his distancing from the real world when he was staring at Frank's face.

The conversation carried on at that speed, it was comforting, still perhaps pedestrian, but welcoming and perfectly appropriate. There was the sense that they both wanted to nurture a friendship properly because their acquaintance was a certainty. Frank was in the band now, there was no backing out. Still, Gerard was too cautious of fucking things up that he didn't want to objectively flirt with Frank, despite Frank's bubbly personality that begged to be bounced off. It was entirely pleasant. They carried on talking for half an hour – longer than either had realised – until Ray came in with an invitation.

"Brian says there's a band playing at The Wreckhouse in an hour. They're supposed to suck. You wanna come? He knows the owner; there are at least a couple free beers in that." Without even realising it, Gerard immediately turned to Frank to gauge his reaction. He'd only really want to go if he could continue talking to him. Frank squinted minutely, then shook his head.

"Dude, I would love to but my mom is in town and I'll bet she wants to hear about you guys."

"That sucks. Just you, me and Mikey then, it looks like. Matt's feeling shitty." Ray directed at Gerard. They lived together; he hardly had an excuse to decline.

"Yeah, totally," Gerard said mechanically. He was fractionally disappointed, but it wasn't like he wouldn't see Frank again; of course not, there were plenty of times to come.

Lying in bed, a few hours later, Gerard was contemplating the evening's events. Sure, the band had sucked and the free beers were few and far between, but Frank just wouldn't leave his mind. He didn't object to this however; the flutters in his chest were a welcome relief from the months of indifference towards everyone.

He fell asleep soundly, smiling.

_Present_

Gerard felt like shit. There was no other way of putting it. He'd been chronically nauseous with flooding guilt in the week's aftermath of sleeping with Lindsey, but this was worse. It felt like the ache after a deep cut; only this was like an amputation. After Frank had walked out, Gerard had tried to walk it off, clear his head in the summer night's air, but everything seemed to suffocate him. He couldn't hear what people were saying to him, he couldn't see people's faces properly, everything was blinding yet completely invisible. His own shame revolted him; he'd cheated on his boyfriend, lover, best friend, with a girl who didn't know he was sleeping with his best friend. From which angle he analysed it, he was the villain and everything was broken. Lindsey had been at the show and was waiting for him to come out; Gerard was minutely thankful that Frank didn't know who she was. But even she had become an empty shell of a person in the repercussion. He had brushed her off; she sensed his grief and let him escape, despite not knowing why. She was still totally besotted with him and he didn't see her the rest of the night.

He could not escape the guilt, nor the irrepressible notion, the very fear, that he had made a grave mistake and lost the most important person in his life.

Pacing and pounding the pavements, he insisted on justifying his actions. Cheating on Frank had been in the heat of the moment. Here was this stunning girl – and Gerard was never exclusively gay – talking to him about art and human beauty and poetry over cheap red wine – what did he expect? That she go home after at 2am? But it was unforgiveable, that much was true. He wished Frank hadn't been so upfront about his feelings (but his fearlessness and passion was what made him fall in love so desperately.) If there was the slightest inkling of doubt that Frank didn't love him, he could justify his cheating. That meant one thing; Gerard didn't love Frank. Or at least, he didn't in the way he ought to. Did he? Surely he was the only one that could answer this. Everything was so broken.

Everything was so broken.

_2 and a half years ago, September_

The night was winding slowly to a close, quieting steadily like the creak of a closing door. There were about a dozen people left in the bar, four of which were Mikey, Matt, Gerard and Frank. The bar was small but with these small numbers and the hours slowly dwindling away like burning candles, it was depressing.

"Dude, we should call it a night. It's almost 2am," Mikey offered, but was met with indifference as everyone was too lethargic to move but not drunk enough to object.

"Does this place ever close?" Frank yawned.

"Yeah, when we leave... even if we're barely paying customers," Gerard replied, motioning towards the surprisingly well-mannered bar tender who didn't seem to mind them keeping him awake.

"One more beer?" Frank gestured towards the bar.

"No, I am going to crash here if I don't go now, seriously. Night, guys." Mikey got up to leave and everyone waved lazily.

"I am following that guy..." Matt slurred, drunker than everyone else, though nobody really knew why. He stumbled comically up and clung to each chair until finally reaching the door and leaving.

Frank's heart leapt a little as he realised it was only him and Gerard left. This wasn't exactly extraordinary circumstances; Gerard was practically a vampire, confessing to staying up all hours of the night drawing. "Inspiration manifests itself nocturnally," he had told Frank. This was gleeful for Frank as he would often waste whole nights watching crummy movies or cartoons on TV. Nevertheless, there was a slight lurch of excitement as he was faced with the prospect of a few minutes alone with Gerard.

This was almost entirely the same reaction for Gerard who struggled to contain a tiny grin as he looked up at Frank. There was a small moment when their eyes and unhidden smiles met simultaneously and it seemed almost tangible, the ecstatic tiny joy in just _being _with each other. Neither of them recognised the mutuality of their feelings but neither could deny that it seemed right just sitting there, watching each others' faces move minutely in the dim light. Frank giggled and hid his face in his hand.

"What's funny?" Gerard probed, his arm moving towards Frank over the table absent-mindedly.

"Oh... nothing. It's... nothing," he stuttered, embarrassed of his sudden outburst.

"Are you happy, Frank?" Gerard's head tilted to side and his eyes roved over Frank. "I mean, you are _always _smiling. Always. That's what I lo-... really like about you. Being in this band, y'know, you make things really... bright and shiny."

Frank's eyes dropped down modestly but his smile remained unmoved.

"Yeah, Gee. I am happy. I think..." Frank said, in a small voice he intended only Gerard to hear privately. He liked talking to him deeply, about feelings. About things he wouldn't usually tell anyone, except maybe his sister.

"You think?"

Frank shrugged.

"I don't know. I mean, nothing's ever _perfect_ is it? There's always something or... someone." He looked away from Gerard on the last word. Then their eyes met again and Frank swore his heartbeat would be _audible_, it was throwing itself around in his chest. The silence was endless, almost painful, yet he didn't want to leave it. Just sitting here was perfect. Whatever it was about this shy, gorgeous guy, Frank didn't know, but he was utterly enchanted and desperate to push himself onto his small spongy lips.

'Someone.' The word lodged itself into Gerard's mind and posed two threatening questions; either Frank was with someone else – an idea which immediately threw him into reveries of jealousy – or... and there was a small chance, he was alluding to him. There was an irrefutable magic tonight and neither of them were drunk enough to have _manufactured_ it. It wasn't artificial.

"Y'know..." Gerard started, but sighed and didn't know what to say.

"What? What do I know?" Frank toyed with him, objectively flirting now. He wanted to push Gerard, to see how far he could take him, he was less afraid. These fragments of chemistry propelled him. He moved his arm discretely over the table until it was millimetres away from Gerard's. The hairs on the back of their forearms pricked in sync and brushed against each other in the tiniest way. Gerard was struggling to breathe enough.

"Frank. I think... you're really cool, y'know that? You're special," he said, seriously this time but didn't retract his arm.

Frank's face broke into a bigger, more relaxed smile.

"Gerard. _You _are the special one here. I'm a two-bit guitarist. You're a freakin' artist and writer and all round creative _fireball._" He leaned forward as he said 'fireball' so his face was closer to Gerard's. He didn't pull back. Take the hint, you beautiful moron, fucking kiss me, he thought urgently.

Gerard panicked at the proximity of Frank's face to his and froze. This was real now. There was something going on, something twinkling in the small stretch of air between them, a kiss frozen in time, a touch waiting to happen, lips begging wordlessly. But he was scared, petrified of something that he couldn't quite place. Pleading to himself to muster the courage to kiss him, he moved his face minutely closer but only could manage a small smile.

"Thank you. You're too awesome for this shitty place. We should head back."

You fucking coward, both Frank and Gerard thought simultaneously. They both exhaled luxuriously, almost in relief, but equally frustrated. Feigning smiles and fatigue, they meandered towards the exit, thanking the bar tender as they left.

Frank touched Gerard's arm gently as he turned in his direction home, and winked at him, though he wasn't quite sure why. This wasn't some kind of parody of seduction.

Gerard cherished the touch though. All was not lost. This was _real_ now, there was no rebuking it, no hiding their feelings. They were etched in the air, chiselled into both of their eyes, painted on the shadows that witnessed the silent, wordless desperation that failed to reveal itself between them. Gerard didn't dare breathe a word of his secret longing for Frank.

Neither of them slept that night.

_2 and a half years ago, October_

To put it bluntly, Frank wanted Gerard for himself. His lips were small and delicate, crying out to be crashed against with his lip-ring; his eyes were so soft and distant yet called him with this abstract promise of closeness that Frank couldn't help but believe was for him. He'd been a part of the band for 3 months now; things were going spectacularly. They'd managed to make a record, cramming song writing into a miniscule time frame, and the result was, if they said so themselves, totally ace. They were touring it now, traipsing up and down the country in a tiny van.

There had been moments, increasingly numerous, when Frank thought Gerard was going to kiss him, or when Frank was so certain he was going kiss Gerard, it was palpable. Nothing had yet come to fruition, however, and Frank didn't know if he could take much longer in this emotional purgatory.

The more he analysed it, the stranger he felt and the more tangled his feelings became. This guy was, at first glance, not in the slightest bit special. He was quiet and came across as rude when you first met him. He was a great singer, artist and songwriter and, one you got to know him, a decent human being. His heart was in the right place and he had five fingers and five toes. But each time he saw, his skin shed a little more each time. His eyes became warmer, melting into a more liquid hazel. Perhaps he _was_ being delusional but he consistently kept catching Gerard's gaze, his eyebrows sinking a little and his lips parted minutely, longingly. Whenever Frank and Gerard were together alone, it was an effort not to throw him against the wall and slam his desperate body against him. There was a physical curiosity that came with Gerard; he was so enigmatic and sweet, Frank just craved a physical closeness with him. He wanted to peel away the charade, the armour he was so skilfully bearing, until he was an organic, breathing matter all for Frank.

He couldn't put his finger on what made him want Gerard so desperately. Maybe it was because he was so stony; Frank was used to getting what he wanted.

The bathroom was rancid. The smells of sweat and urine were, to a certain extent, comforting, but these were amplified by a perpetual stench of vomit and shit that hadn't quite made its way down to the sewage. This was only exacerbated by its size which was barely enough for 2 people; so when Gerard followed Frank into it unwittingly, it was bound to be painful for him. Gerard was intoxicated with Frank, completely useless whenever they were alone together, weak and desperate. He had perfected his statuesque demeanour, however, and composed himself well. But he didn't actually register that Frank was trundling into this bathroom stall in front of him. It took him 30 seconds to register the proximity of their bodies.

Frank stifled a giggle as he turned to see Gerard's slightly shocked face less than a metre from his. This was too perfect and his heart was pounding quickly and with such fervency it was almost painful. His ribcage was going to bruise. Breathing became difficult for them both but neither of them knew of their mutual desires.

It took the Gerard's full effort to stop blushing, his face red and hot and seeping with desperation. Frank's arm grazed against his in the proximity and his whole body convulsed with goose-bumps, his breath catching like a blade against the back of his throat. He deluded himself into seeing a pang of longing in Frank's eyes that were roaming rapidly everywhere except Gerard's face. Suddenly, he was struck with some kind of outer body inspiration. If he wasn't going to make the first move, he felt he would be consumed by this and his heart would _actually give out_. Or his dick would fall off. Something dramatic.

He mustered the courage from a deep pit in what seemed like the endless expanse of his chest that was now rhythmically rising and falling, accelerating in velocity. He noticed he was sweating profusely. He lifted his hand slowly and placed it on Frank's wrist.

"Frankie...," he stammered, trying to adopt a tone that oozed sexuality and confidence but was rather strangled fear and sounded like a painful cough. He tried again.

"Frankie... I know this might come as a shock but I'm... really into you." He emphasised the 'really' but putting his head down a fraction of an inch so that their eyes were in line. And their lips.

Frank was oddly calm through this. Throughout his and Gerard's encounters, there was a bizarre clarity for him, deep down in the most egotistical recesses of his mind, that this moment would come. His delusions were, in fact, realities. He let a smirk fly out the corner of his mouth as he chose his words. His chin dropped half an inch but his eyes maintained Gerard's intense gaze. He couldn't help but chuckle.

"Gerard... I've... wanted you... for a long time." His eyebrows arched and peaked as he said the last two words. Their hearts were beating in sink now and Gerard was twitching uncontrollably but seemed unable to move.

"I know."

With that, Gerard was thrown violently against the wall and Frank kissed him desperately, his mouth warm and sweet, his hands knotting themselves through his hair and grabbing readily at his body. He pressed himself close to Gerard, savouring the warmth and closeness of their bodies, as if trying to meld himself to him, become one person. His kiss was deep, passionate and unapologetic; his tongue moved voluptuously in Gerard's mouth, his lips waltzing rapidly and hungrily. Gerard was stunned and stood paralysed for the first few seconds, his eyes gripped shut as he registered that this was _actually happening_. He was oddly calm until he began to start _feeling_ his numbed body; he was on fire, burning with the feeling of Frank up against him, and his lips and hands jolted into action, pulling Frank's jaw fiercely even deeper into his mouth, tangling his hair then pressing the small of his back into his crotch, relishing the taste of his mouth and twitching frantically with desire.

After what seemed a lifetime yet still momentary, Frank pulled away, breathless. His eyes were darting all over Gerard's face, all the unkissed places. His mouth was unsmiling, lips aghast and moist, still savouring the intoxicating rush of the moment. Then he erupted into a smile and placed a small peck on Gerard's now paralysed lips.

"See you onstage, sugar."

_Present_

Frank's strides were becoming slower, every fibre of his being pleading with him not to have to endure seeing Gerard. There was no miracle plan forming in his head and it was impossible to envision just acting normally around him and the others. They didn't know. Even Mikey, Gerard's younger brother, he was sure didn't know of his and Gerard's long-term affair. The magic and spark of keeping it a secret was initially exciting for the two of them, propelling their chemistry and enamour with each other heavenwards; every illicit touch shook their bodies, every quick kiss hidden behind some door was savoured, each time they were _almost _caught just made them want each other more.

Frank gritted his teeth painfully on the recall of these memories. His muscles physically tensed as he suppressed them, as if actually trying to force them into a small box or impenetrable safe. He was about to turn the corner that led onto the street where the van was parked and everything was being loaded up. He paused momentarily, closed his eyes so that the lid just met the bottom, only slightly, and exhaled for what seemed like an eternity. Man up, you piece of shit, Iero, he thought to himself, scorning. He continued walking.

It him hard. The wind was smacked out of his body, his lunged collapsed in on themselves and his heart was ricocheting painfully at a throttling speed. He was suddenly aware of his hands, firmly placed in his pockets, sweating profusely and shaking uncontrollably. Immediately, a flood of rage crashed over him, his eyes burning and hands gripping into fists; at the same time, he was filled with a longing urge just to go and kiss Gerard hard on the mouth. There was a craving tickling the inside of his nostrils, a desire just to smell his hair and feel his skin again, even if it was only once, for the last time. It was like a storm raging inside his body and mind.

Gerard was standing there, leaning against the van, with his back to Frank. He looked quite casual and nonchalant. Suddenly it dawned on his that Gerard was chatting to someone, smoking a cigarette. Mikey seemed to be doing something official and of the utmost importance with the equipment and Bob – Matt had left last year soon to be replaced with the acutely sarcastic, sardonic but utterly loveable Bob – was just visible inside the kitchen. Frank couldn't decipher to whom he was talking. He crept around the corner, desperately trying to make his violent feelings ebb, until he saw a mop of blonde scruffy hair adorn a very pretty – but very female – face, with bright, large lips and two small, oval hazel eyes, crowned with endless curly eyelashes. She was short, but didn't seem miniature, and was smiling at Gerard in awe, giggling.

Painfully, this added up in Frank's head. Gerard was saying goodbye to his new girlfriend. All the tenderness that had paradoxically prevailed in him was suddenly dissolved by raw rage and a jealousy that seeped out every pore, like lava, viscous and coating his skin. His breathing became more ragged and audible.

Clearly, Gerard heard him. He turned around, the expression on his face a mix of panic and sympathy, etched subtly on his tired face. He seemed to quickly dismiss the girl and made his way towards Frank.

"Fuck you," Frank said, turning around and hurrying into the house.

"Frank, wait!" Gerard made a grabbing motion at Frank and followed him.

Frank managed to reach an empty bedroom, throwing himself up the stairs so no one would be able to hear his strangled sobs that were sticking in his throat, choking him. Gerard had followed him into the room and shut the door behind him.

"Fuck you! You are fucking heartless, bringing some girl here when you know I'd be here, do you not care at all? I'm so _stupid_!" Frank was shouting now, leaning forward and gesticulating wildly, hitting himself in the face as he considered his own stupidity. "You never cared for me, not now and clearly not ever. I just..."

The sobs were escaping him now, the tears blinding him so he couldn't see Gerard's pained expression.

"Frank, look, I'm so confused! Of course I cared for you, I still do! You think this is easy for me, huh? I can just sever ties with you? I know I was... dismissive last night, I was wrong but... I'm just confused!" A small cry flew out his mouth, taking Frank by surprise. There were tears glistening in Gerard's eyes too, now, his voice had become raised and cracking.

"What do we do now?" Frank asked to no one, not expecting any answer.

"I wish this was easy."

"But what? What do you wish was easy? Throwing me in the trash like some fucking nobody?" Frank glared at Gerard detestably.

"Just... fucking everything. I never planned on falling in love with you. Everything was so... wild, y'know? It just happened and kept happening and I was so... I still am... And Lindsey was so..." Unable to finish his sentences, tears started falling freely from Gerard now.

Frank had never seen him cry before.

"This is all so _shit_. I just... I just wanna know why you slept with her, Gee. The idea of someone else's_ hands_, it's making me feel sick."

Gerard's face was blank as he tried to conjure a justification.

"I honestly do not know. She was there, I guess. And I hadn't slept with a girl for so long, I was... curious. I don't know. I just don't know!"

There was a long silence.

"I never want to lose you. I can't. Even we're not... us. I couldn't do it," Gerard whispered hoarsely.

"I know."

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"I don't know if I can forgive you."

Frank had stopped crying and his voice had adopted a strange, calm monotonous tone that rung through the empty room.

"I should leave," Gerard said.

"We both know that can't happen."

"I know... but I _should_. Part of me wishes I could," Gerard replied, wistfully. Fresh anger rose in Frank's throat.

"What, just up and leave with your new girlfriend? Abandon us all and chuck me away? God, you are a fucking _asshole." _

Frank stormed out of the room and thundered down the stairs. Gerard sat there, dumbfounded, bruised with the resonance of Frank's words and in turmoil over his own failings. Everything he said was wrong and would hurt Frank further. This was the most painful kind of purgatory, unable to envision any kind of feasible solution. Either Frank leave the band or he did. No, neither of those were an option. They were on _fire_ as a band now, hurtling towards an ever-reaching goal, amassing fans and record sales daily. It was an exciting time for the band; but a hellish one of him and Frank. There was also the unsettling nausea of guilt that he had become expert at evading; he had fucked up big time and two people were in the aftermath. Lindsey didn't know him and Frank were together, either. What ig they did end up together? Did he even _want _that? What did he want? A cigarette and endless silence.

_2 and half years ago, November_

Frank had always been a smiley person but now he was plastered with his own happiness. His own joy was offending other people.

"Frank, you gotta quit being so damn optimistic. It's depressing me," Mikey whined, clueless. Gerard stole a quick wink at Frank over the kitchen counter, making coffee.

"Dude, go get laid or something, don't shit on my parade!" Frank joked. The sex wasn't the only thing that was cheering him up – although it was _incredible_ – but the feeling of being wanted (and, dare he say, being _loved_) was enough to put fire in his belly.

"Whatever, freak. I'm going out. I've got a hot date..." Mikey mumbled.

"With your mom," Frank giggled. Mikey glared at him pointedly.

"No, actually. A girl."

"A _real girl?_ For a second there we thought you were a fag."

Momentarily, Gerard looked hurt at the word 'fag' but shook his head minutely as he realised Frank was at least _half_ gay too. Mikey's faced softened and broke into a small smile as he downed the last of his coffee, the mug masking his face and steaming his glasses.

"I'm outta here." He meandered out the kitchen and Frank sat still, anxiously staring Gerard straight in the eye as he heard the door shut and the engine rumble outside. Upon hearing the low mumble of the car trundling out of the drive, he leapt to his feet and threw his arms around Gerard's waist, who was leaning against the counter, and kissed him deeply.

"I thought he'd never leave," he said in a sing-song Southern accent, mimicking a Southern belle who couldn't wait to get her hands on her man; not entirely inaccurate, bar the Southern-ness and the gender.

Gerard breathed out loudly and smiled, welcoming the kiss with his hands cupping Frank's jaw tenderly, touching foreheads as he withdrew.

Frank was more assertive though; he wasn't in the mood for affection. He pushed Gerard up until he was sitting on the counter and prised his legs open, kissing him more furtively on the mouth, pulling on his lips with his teeth until he heard the echo of a whimper escape the side of Gerard's mouth. He pushed himself further into his mouth, opening his lips wider and more hungrily, his tongue darting in and out. His hands clawed at his back, then tickled their way down to the crotch of his jeans, where Frank giggled as he felt Gerard's hardness through the rough, ripped denim. His hands toyed with the skin above Gerard's groin, the patch of bare skin on the bottom of his stomach, rippling with goose bumps, kissing his neck harshly and sucking on the bottom of his jaw. Gerard's eyes were clamped shut, biting his lip, his forehead ridged in desperation; Frank loved this. He was in control, putty in his hands, playing with his lip ring with his tongue. He scratched at Gerard's neck and looked at him with a needy, playful expression. He threw off the fingerless gloves that – for some reason – he was still wearing and threw Gerard a cheeky grin as he pulled at Gerard's belt buckle, biting his lip in a mock-pornographic way but still managed to squeeze out another yelp from Gerard's open mouth. The fronts of his teeth were touching, visible in the open gap of his gaping mouth. He pulled at the buttons until they gave and slipped off Gerard's pants until they were hanging loosely from his legs, dangling over the counter. Frank wanted to play with Gerard. He took his cock in his fore and index finger, gripping from the base and ran his tongue along the base of the shaft, flicking it off the end. Gerard's breathing was deafening and he saw his fingers twitch, as if ready to shove his dick straight into Frank's mouth. He didn't though, enjoying the teasing. Frank circled the tip with tongue, making extra effort to touch it lightly with his lip ring.

"Fuck, Frankie..." He loved it when Gerard called him that. His voice was strangled and fraught, pleading with Frank to suck him off. Relenting, Frank grabbed his whole cock and pushed it into his mouth, hot, wet and salivating. Gerard whimpered and pulled at Frank's hair violently, arching the top of his spine in pleasure. Frank played with sucking quickly and hard on the tip then slowly easing the entire cock almost down his throat, digging his nails into Gerard's bare ass. He sucked hard, thrusting his neck with an increasing speed until Gerard made a yelping sound and threw his head back.

"Frankie, I'm coming, I'm—"

Frank was a dirty _slut_ who didn't mind a mouthful. Coming gloriously, his mouth was flooded with the salty mess and he leaned back, smirking, admiring his work, flicking his tongue from his lips seductively. Gerard was panting, his eyes sparkling with a post-coital bliss that made Frank happy, almost proud. They kissed, more tenderly this time, softly touching each other's lips, relishing the moment, their affection.

"Frankie." He gripped Frank's jaw and touched his forehead to his own, gazing deeply into the murky recesses of those eyes that had so encapsulated him from the beginning. "You. You're... wonderful. And all mine."

Gerard's expression softened into something more mischievous as he ran his hands over the waistband of Frank's jeans, flicking them against his skin. He pushed his hand down the back, feeling the skin of Frank's soft pink ass with a greedy kiss, ready to return his favour. He moved his hand slowly, still inside the pants, round his hips until he reached the edge of his crotch, furry and warm. He stroked the edge of his cock, smiling to himself as he felt it twitch in anticipation.

The door opened.

The breath was knocked out of the two of them and they flew apart, hands flurrying behind their backs, sheepish expressions jumping onto their faces and anxious blushes trying desperately to be suppressed.

"Oh, hi, Ray, I didn't realise you were due back." Gerard's voice was strained, not his own, it sounded metallic and rehearsed.

"Dude, come give me a hand with these bags, some fucker's gotta do the grocery shopping." Frank jumped to his feet and ran over to grab the bulging plastic bags, throwing Gerard a pained but jovial expression.

They hadn't been caught; but it was a close call.

_Present_

Frank was curled into a tight ball on the bunk in the tour van, his eyes clamped shut, his breathing becoming more regulated with his increasing exertion. His was the messiest bed, a sea of duvets and mangled sheets that all smelled of mingling sweat and cigarette smoke. He had the sudden urge to plunge headfirst into an endless sleep; not suicidal in the sense of pain _ending _but the dark that confronted his closed eyes was comforting, warm, and, above all, unquestioning. His back was contorted bizarrely over the thin mattress but this was strangely comfortable; the dull ache that was unfurling in his muscles was reassuring, keeping everything mothy and tense.

This was the part Frank was dreading the most, because it used to be what he loved the most. He would sometimes just lie up here on his own, in a blissful dream-like state of semi-consciousness, a half-reality where everything was softened and grainy with the tint of being so obscenely in love. The secondary stages of being in love, when the heart begins to relent on its incessant thudding and slows down to a waltz that acts as the percussion for walking down the street with a soundtrack playing in your head: that's what these bunks represented to Frank. If he wasn't relishing a savoured moment tangled in Gerard's legs and wrapped with his arms, absent-mindedly stroking the skin on his shoulders, gently tickling it just so Gerard was reminded he was there, constantly aware of his presence in his embrace, he would be lying there thinking about him and the flicks of his greasy black hair, the glint perpetually hiding in his hazel eyes, waiting to be unveiled with a surprise kiss or sly handhold. Failing that, he would be able just to watch Gerard, sketching freely, his head etched with concentration and his tongue sticking out of his mouth determinately. Perhaps he _was _being creepy but this was one of his favourite time-wasters, just analysing every inch of skin Gerard had, the languid movements of his pen strokes, the way his eyelashes framed his eyes, the tiny movements of his lips.

Now, all Frank had left been the memories, as cliché as it sounded. They were engrained on his mind, sitting there, antiquated now as if it had been a relationship from years ago, and collecting dust in a small, guarded corner of his mind. The details were what mattered most to Frank; the things he knew that nobody else did. The way he noticed the softened expression in Gerard when Frank was near, or how his voice increased minutely in pitch when Frank was physically close to him, intentionally trying to drive him crazy and encouraging him to find a moment where they could fuck.

Breathing deeply, he unfolded his body from its contortion, hearing the bones crack in release despite only having been cramped there for less than an hour. They had left, trundling down the highway at a painfully slow speed, the bus creaking, heaving and groaning under its weight. Frank had loaded his stuff in then muttered an excuse of fatigue so he would not have to witness an emotional farewell between the nameless girlfriend and Gerard. It was strange, this relentless drive of feelings that seemed to be exploiting his body, internal turmoil that throttled his chest until he felt his lungs were bleeding, jealousy and rage permeating down to his bones, eroding them into dust. All he was _able_ to do was curl up on a bed and feign sleep.

Looking around, however, he saw Gerard, unsurprisingly with his sketch book. His brow was furrowed and shining with a thin film of perspiration, but Frank couldn't work out why. It wasn't hot in the bus; in fact, the relentless air-con system rendered the air biting and unpleasantly chilly. Frank was lying face down on the pillow and was managing his analysis from the corner of his eyes. His hands were moving slowly in small motions over the book, lying open over his crossed legs. Periodically, he would run his fingers through his increasingly messy hair, or chew on the end of the pen. Oral fixation; Frank couldn't stand looking at his small pinkish lips with no hope of ever colliding on them.

"What're you drawing?"

His voice surprised them both. Frank didn't feel he had enough courage to _cough_ to break the silence, let alone confront him with a question. But it had been said now, interaction had been initiated.

"Oh. Just... nothing," Gerard said, sheepishly, blushing violently a deep shade of vermilion and avoiding Frank's glare.

Frank chuckled darkly.

"You're good, but even _you_ can't draw nothing." Why was Frank being so playful? Neither of them deserved this kind of conversation, almost flirty with Frank's downright pleasantness.

"If you must know," Gerard said, smirking, "I was drawing some hands."

"Just hands? Whose? You don't just draw hands. What're they holding?"

"Yours. They're empty, but folded. The knuckles are bent but it doesn't _look_ uncomfortable. Just relaxed."

Frank was taken aback. For a few seconds, they were _them_ again, the whole, fixed pair, glorious and fearless, loving each other illicitly and quietly under everyone else's superficial glare, giving them both a reason to be happy. Frank successfully suppressed the reminder that it wasn't as it was before and continued what only could be described as either some strange roleplay or friendly pleasantry.

"Why mine?" he probed, anxious to see the real Gerard again, not the suffering shadow of his spirit, disfigured with guilt and confusion. Gerard sighed and gave a sad smile that reached his eyes slowly, not lighting his eyes with a joyful glee but a small resignation at the idea of Frank's hands.

"They're the most beautiful I've ever seen." What other answer could he give? That he only ever felt whole, loved and perfect in his hands? That wouldn't be fair, he'd already betrayed his embraces by clawing at another person's skin, being felt with other hands. Different hands, ones less callused and worn but far less soft, pure and empty of tattoos with sharper nails and no signs of wear, no tears or miniscule scars, attached to someone else's arms, thinner and more fragile without the strength to pick him up or squeeze him until his breath gave out. Different hands.

"Gerard..." Frank sighed, moaning slightly, creating a tone of combined longing, pain and anger. Couldn't he hear how his voice wrapped around the name like a caress?

"They are. I don't know, I could see one poking out the bunk and thought I'd draw them."

This was half-true. He'd seen Frank curled tightly in his bunk and was struck by an overwhelming desire to crawl in with him, stroke his hair and mend his heart. Then, painfully he realised that would only damage things even more and instead did the next most relaxing thing; drawing Frank. He was intending to do a full portrait, starting with his hands but he was paying so much attention to the map of lines and wrinkles that carved up his palms, he dedicated the whole page to them.

Frank was curious to see the drawing, but more curious to see if, and how, he could withstand physical proximity to Gerard. They were essentially _alone_ – Ray was sat down in the front with his earphones on full blast, oblivious to everything, eyes shut and his head bobbing gently and Mikey and Bob were fast asleep. He was pushing his own limits, seeing if he could bear it or if he was able to control himself. Stupid sadist, Frank thought to himself, putting yourself through needless pain. He contemplated rolling back into the bunk but part of him was excited by the threat of the challenge and regardless, he needed to savour this rare moment of pleasantry with Gerard that was, right at that moment, free from any shouting or crying.

He crawled out and pushed himself down, legs bouncing slightly as he reached the floor. He heard Gerard inhale sharply; they were both bracing themselves for each other. He avoided his eyes for as long as he could, and then tiptoed over to the sofa-seat, wide enough for three people and slid down next to Gerard, brushing his lifted knee with his hips. Cocking his head to the right inquisitively, he inspected the drawing.

It was stunning. A rare moment when Gerard drew with pencil rather than Sharpie or Biro, it had an organic quality, shading in all the right places and was detailed to the point where it looked like a photograph. Frank knew his hands incredibly well; as a guitarist, the scrapes and scars were badges of honour, proof that he could shred and kick ass doing so. This was one step further, though; the rawness of the sketch combined with the smallness of each pencil stroke gave the whole piece a radiating air of tenderness to it. This was more than just an observational drawing, this was homage, a tribute to whatever beauty Gerard found in Frank's scratched fingers, the delicacy of the fingernails that were barely whole, the tattoos that covered most of the bare skin. You could practically feel them just by looking at the drawing; the texture was alive, reaching out from the page and begging to be held.

Frank's face turned a radiant shade of scarlet. His hand instinctively went to cover his mouth which was aghast in wonder and flattery. A smile began to creep at the edges of his lips, momentarily abandoning all the feelings of angst and fear from the previous hours.

"It's... beautiful. It's just... like magic. I don't know what to say." Instinctually, his hand moved to Gerard's thigh, gripping it tightly as if validating his appreciation. Gerard abandoned his own prison of self-inflicting fear and looked up, reaching Frank's eye level and staring deeply into the small deep-set jewels of hazel and gold. His gaze was soft but guarded, retaining a sense of fear and closing off the backs of the pupils, as if he wasn't letting Gerard stroll in the shadows of his soul. He needed to say something; the drawing was able to communicate the things he _couldn't _say but it was too difficult. This wasn't a movie, he couldn't conjure some perfect cinematic line that would solve everything, then lift Frank majestically into an embrace where they could kiss in the rain and make passionate love while the camera panned up into a sky of endless stars. This was real life. Hearts were broken; sex was frantic and needy, illicit and invasive, sweaty and dirty. Speech was strangled and taut, not rehearsed and articulate. But the silence was crying out to be broken by something, a kiss or a word.

"I wasn't exactly intending you to see it, so, y'know, you don't have to say anything," Gerard stumbled out, careful not to move Frank's hand from his leg.

"You never fail to impress me, though," Frank replied, pushing the limits of his friendliness and toying with his own.

Gerard smirked and tilted his head downwards, then peered at Frank lifting his eyes minutely. He so desperately wanted to kiss Frank, to show some physical proof that he needed the collision of his kiss, the warmth of his fragile lips, just proving to Frank how much he was sorry and how much he needed him. He still didn't have an answer to his own problems – internal debates and turmoil over sexuality, Lindsey, the future and any promise of a family – but _right now_ the only thing that could make him feel remotely _human_ again was the crash of lips on lips, skin on skin in hot impact, the tangle of limbs in desperate motion, that irrepressible desire to merge with another person, as if physically _becoming_ a part of them, clawing at their bodies and pressing hot flesh on hot flesh.

Gerard had to steady his breathing at this notion.

"Is it worth it... saying I'm sorry?" he muttered quietly. Frank's hand still hadn't moved.

"I know you're sorry."

"What can I do? I've damaged you beyond repair."

"I'll be fine... I think. But... I can't help but thinking... I mean," Frank stuttered, getting frustrated at his own inarticulateness. "What if... you and me are the... real deal, y'know? The One and all that."

"I know what you're saying."

"...but you haven't thought it too..." Frank sighed, the disappointment etching itself on his face slowly like some kind of seeping oil leak.

"No, I have. That's why I'm so fucking _stupid_ for being so... stupid. I just... what if we go wrong and we invest everything in each other? Make empty promises and ruining each other's lives. Halfway into life. What if I do this again and we're too old? No chance of a family, or of happiness. I'm just... I'm so scared."

Frank was slightly bemused but tried to be understanding. He had just never had those qualms. The idea of having a family for him, was secondary to being with the person he loved and being happy. The two weren't exclusive but weren't subjective of each other either. The priority was happiness and love, despite how cliché and tired that sounded.

There was a pregnant pause while they both digested this. Mutually they had decided that forgiveness was viable, wordlessly.

"I'm so scared," Gerard uttered his voice cracking.

"Scared of what?" Frank looked at him sympathetically, desperate to make him feel better. His suffering had seemingly evaporated, dispersed into the air. Touching Gerard hadn't _hurt _him – he wasn't a vampire or something – and his heart was thudding violently but it was somewhat enjoyable. His whole body was at ease and there was a clearness in his head, like a fresh breeze had blown everything out of his mind. It was a blankness, but not an unwelcome one. All that he was concerned with was caring for Gerard and not moving his hand from Gerard's leg.

"Losing you forever."

"You're my best friend, Gerard."

"But... drawing your hands, it's like... I can't live without them. Your fucking hands. Ink and flesh. Your fingers." His brow furrowed slightly.

Frank moved his hand and held Gerard's tentatively in his. His chest was tight, breath was oozing thinly through but he felt dizzy at the touch of bare skin.

"Well, what if I do forgive you?"

_Two and half years ago_

"Are you surprised you're a fag?"

Gerard was taken aback at this question and furrowed his brown questioningly. He always winced slightly at any derogatory term, even coming from Frank, who was smiling mischievously, reaching his eyes and causing them to sparkle through the dim light of Gerard's room. For the first time, they had managed to steal a weekend together alone. Ray had quietly left them for the weekend to spend time with his girlfriend, oblivious as to what they were intending to use the shared house for.

"What?" Gerard responded, the intonation in his voice rising with a perplexed inflection.

"I mean, will you ever come out? As a fag," Frank cupped the phrase 'coming out' with two fingers as speech marks, mocking the concept of sexuality on the whole. Historically, Frank had always been aware that his own heterosexuality was mythical. He liked girls, not all of them, and he liked boys, not all of them either. The last time he checked, love was about a person, an individual, not a gender or something as tediously technical as sexual organs. Sex worked regardless of the angle you took it from (or gave it to) and shouldn't have been dwelled on too harshly. His first kiss was with a girl, with whom he lost his virginity at the tender age of 14 six months later, and he had first initiated romantic and sexual intentions with a guy when he was 17. Sex was about freedom. Frank was perpetually grateful that he was so liberated with it, not shackled by insecurity regarding sexuality. He wasn't promiscuous in the literal sense; he preferred to regard himself as determined and successful, more often than not. Hence why Gerard posed such a challenge; icy, statuesque and guarded like a fort, he wanted to break him down and fuck him senseless, for two reasons; firstly, to prove that he _could_, secondly, that there was a magnetic charm that drew him magically to Gerard that was enigmatic and intoxicating, obviously amounting to so much more than mindless sex and sneaky blowjobs.

"Well... I might not be an actual 'fag', to use the term so loosely," Gerard said cautiously, wrinkling his nose at the word fag.

"You like boys."

"I like you."

"I'm a boy."

"You're you."

Frank was intentionally toying with Gerard good-humouredly, just trying to assess his attitude towards everything. He had already decided a long time ago that this weekend was going to be _the _weekend. Ceremonious and memorable, he hadn't precisely planned anything _out_ – no candles had been bought and the bath wasn't exactly running for the two of them – but in his mind, he had delicately crafted a small speech that he had been intending to say to Gerard for a while, sentimental and slushy but sincere nonetheless.

Aside from that, Frank _needed_ to have sex with Gerard. It had been three months into their illicit affair and they simply hadn't had the opportunity. Each time they touched, Frank's body ached to be naked and damp onto of Gerard's, skin on skin, sin on sin, pores dilated and oozing with desire and desperation. His fingernails dug into his own palm as he imagined the pungency of Gerard's sweat and breath, mingling with his own as if it were rising in a haze of dense smoke, bittersweet and afflicting, blinding them both. He envisioned lips and hips moving in synchronised motion, hearts pounding as if they were going to bruise, nail clawing down bare skin in sheer desperation. Something needed to be consecrated, the flesh victory of their opposable love. This was enough to send Frank into a dream like reverie of lust and he could feel his boner rising in his jeans.

Gerard was lying flat on his back on the sofa, his feet hanging loosely over the edge. Frank downed the last of his beer and bounced over to him, jumping so as to land horizontally on top of Gerard.

"Ow! That hurt!" Gerard squealed in distress but the grin was plastered on his face. His hands went automatically to the small of Frank's back, pulling him in closer. Frank leant in to kiss him delicately on the lips, his eyes roving across his face with a soft expression that combined awe, pride and tenderness and was utterly delectable.

Frank planted his head on Gerard's firm chest, listening to the percussive beat of his heartbeat that was like a lullaby. The gentle rise and falling of his ribcage lulled Frank into a quiet sleepiness, his eyes fluttering shut. Gerard was stroking the top of Frank's head absent-mindedly and Frank was almost falling asleep until Gerard's fingertips brushed the back of his neck causing his skin to ripple in goose bumps and the boner in his jeans to bring itself forward again.

Frank began kissing Gerard's jaw, slowly at first, tasting his milky skin and touching every inch and angle of his jaw, then worked his way up, sucking gently behind the ear, his hands moving fervently, but not aggressively, over Gerard's arms and chest. His fingernails started pulling at the thin fabric of his t-shirt until his tattooed hands slipped under and his fingertips were stroking the flesh of his stomach with increasing pressure. Gerard was biting his lip so hard he feared he might draw blood, his body filled so wholly with the pleasure of Frank's lips, hands and tongue exploring his body like it was land, opening his pores as if they'd never been touched. It was alien but so _amazing_, his skin rippling in waves of previously unfelt pleasure but it wasn't necessarily_ physical_, he wasn't pushing himself for a climax, it was different, it was the changing temperature of the skin on skin. It was the gentle moisture of Frank's tongue dotting the untouched areas of his body, his hot breath caressing the hairs that prickled in response to Frank's perfectly formed expert mouth.

The sentimentality was soon pushed out of Gerard's head as his crotch throbbed with desire and his body was suddenly hyper aware of the blood flooding to his cock and the precarious proximity of Frank's mouth. Gerard sat up abruptly and threw Frank a serious, wicked look then seized his jaw ferociously, pulling it towards him, then kissing him fiercely hands-free while he pulled off his belt and tore his shirt off. Gerard could feel Frank's face crack into a grin through the heated kiss, responding by knotting his fingers of one hand through Frank's hair and simultaneously tearing at his t-shirt, then grabbing at the crotch of his jeans, kissing him fervently and unapologetically the whole time. His lips were positively raw from the pressure of the constant kissing and everything was breathless and desperately hot, Gerard could feel the sweat begin to creep and ooze out of every pore, dampening his hair with the cloying moisture but it was _perfect _because he could feel it happen in Frank too; it was as if they were mutually combusting, reaching boiling point as if they were to melt together in some beautifully perverse fusion of skin and flesh and the new saliva that was dripping out of Frank's open mouth.

They were almost both naked now, still grasping and scratching at each other's skin, the thudding in Gerard's chest seemed to be bruising his ribcage and he momentarily feared that it would thump against Frank's bare chest too and hurt him.

Something strange, alien, almost beastly struck Gerard's square in the chest; it was as if he became a different person in Frank's scrabbling, hot embrace. All of the previous fears and qualms were instantly quelled by the desperation of his kiss; even his anxieties towards the _technicalities_ of sex instantly dissipated as if circling above him like the condensation crystallising on the wall caused by the heat of the amalgamated bodies. He pushed Frank onto the floor and clambered haphazardly on top of him, but Frank still admired his clunking grace and couldn't hide the grin, now plastered over his face as Gerard crashed back down onto his face.

They were naked now, skin welding onto skin, the rusty carpet scratching against Frank's back but he ignored the mild burn it caused, he was too absorbed in Gerard's mouth and eyes and skin and his contorting limbs. Frank glanced down at Gerard's hard cock and a smirk darted out of the side of his mouth as he gripped it between his thighs, giggling as he heard a whimpering moan escape Gerard. It wasn't just his dick that was yearning for a climax; it extended to his whole body, every particle was _aching_ for some kind of absolution that currently seemed only to stem from fucking Gerard senseless. Frank scrambled to his feet and pulled Gerard's arm fiercely, not shying to dig his nails in. He pulled him hard into bedroom and threw him forcefully onto the unmade bed. The room was dark and unforgiving, painted with immense shadows and had a sublime smell that combined sweat, beer and old cigarette smell. The scent clung to the shadows that were now being interrupted by the white mass of moving body.

Frank didn't want to bother with the pleasantries of foreplay. Their kissing in itself was enough to make him painfully hard and his cock was like rock against the comparatively feathery skin of Gerard's thighs which seemed to be quivering in the soft light cast from the opened window.

Gerard pulled away momentarily and gave Frank a serious look; not an unkind one, it was full of tenderness, still brimming with that bizarre and incomparable desperation from before, but was steady, controlled, purposeful.

"Frank, I'm..." he stammered, unsure of what to say. His clumsy words would surely ruin everything now, at the last hurdle of this consummation. Frank would understand, of course, but he feared that he would obliterate the sheer organic power of their colliding bodies with his fruitless words and his fumbling attempts to articulate his, well, his lack of experience in the what he presumed was to follow.

"This is all so new to me," Gerard managed to stutter, his voice far clearer and steadier than he realised. There was a lucidity in the way the words hit the dark room, a calmness in Gerard that was entirely unexpected. It was completely true as well; not only in the precision of that situation, but everything to do with Frank. The unexacting, unrelenting passion that kept unfolding itself; the tenderness that would paradoxically hit Gerard with the force of a brick but the sensation of warm melting honey in his chest, surprising him completely.

This was one of those moments, as Frank looked down, touching Gerard's face so lightly he felt every pore open and each hair prickle in response.

"It's okay," Frank breathed, the smile still carved on his face. It was like he was seeing Gerard's face for the first time, a new time, where it was glowing in a cold light as if it were phosphorescent. His eyes were sparkling and smiling beneath the initial anxiousness following their intimacy.

Frank was, however, marginally at a loss of what to say. He didn't want to promise a painless experience because that was, frankly, impossible if Gerard was the virgin Frank thought he was. But these worries seemed to dissolve almost instantly. Even if this was the worst sex of his life, it would still be the _best_ and the first of much, in any case.

Gerard nodded quickly and breathily but didn't look scared. There was a shadow of apprehension that flew over his face, but his eyes soon closed as he touched Frank's lips softly with his own. The proximity of their naked bodies was enough to reignite the relentless rhythm of their kisses and Frank started massaging the skin of Gerard's shoulders, turning around and beginning to kiss the back of his neck and stroking his cock gently, feeling it twitch in response.

"This won't be perfect, though, will it, Frank?" Gerard whispered hoarsely, a minute frown forming on his forehead.

Frank paused for a moment.

"Gerard, you're perfect. I'll try not to hurt you. We'll go slowly," Frank cooed and the very sound of his voice was enough to lull Gerard into a more relaxed stance. Frank darted to an unseen corner of the room and pulled out various objects, throwing them onto the bed haphazardly and then redirected his attention back to Gerard.

He gripped the base of his cock firmly and he let out a whimper of longing. He stroked his fingertips over the shaft and, when a high pitched groan signified Gerard could no longer take the teasing, started pumping it fervently, still kissing and sucking on the skin of Gerard's back. Frank's dick felt heavy and full as if it were about to burst, it was practically burning with an unplaced craving.

"I want you _so _much. I've never wanted anyone so much in my life," Frank breathed, his voice scratchy and cracking with longing. He didn't need to see Gerard's face to know there would be a wicked smile on it.

"I'm ready, Frank, do something or I'm gonna come in your hand," Gerard yelped, almost painfully, his voice high pitched.

Frank pushed gently on the small of Gerard's pearly-skinned back and grabbed one of the items he'd thrown onto the bed. Unsurprisingly it was a small bottle of lube and a condom, the latter of which he put on hurriedly with one hand, then lathered the lube over his fore and index finger, constantly massaging and stroking Gerard's bare skin.

Carefully and ever so slowly, Frank entered his fingers into Gerard's ass, anticipating the worst and anxiously listening for a cry of pain or rejection. They slid in without much exertion and Frank began pushing them further in and out rhythmically, his own cock still burning with longing. His brow was furrowed, practically sore from it, and his mouth was still in its perpetually aghast openness, the lips hanging loosely and sparkling with saliva as if they'd been glittered.

"That... feels good, Frankie," Gerard croaked and Frank needed no other word. He shut his eyes tight and gripped the bottom of his dick, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. He pushed it into Gerard with some effort, making sure not to force it so as not to cause him too much pain, but with every millimetre it slipped in, Frank's whole seemed to simultaneously melt, his bones liquefying and his muscles evaporating, whilst still being rigid and petrified on the edge of a climax. He pushed into Gerard and gradually starting thrusting, his dick jubilantly sending waves of pleasure throughout his entire body. He clutched at Gerard's torso as if feeling their bodies fuse, their very spirits colliding headlong in some beautiful momentary fission; their ribcages were tessellating, their arms were gripped so tightly they became one limb, Frank was so possessed by the moment, by the sensation of not just being _in_ Gerard, but _being_ Gerard.

He clutched at Gerard's cock and restarted jerking it off in his hand, anxious to time it so they would climax simultaneously and Frank wasn't going to last long. He was drenched in hot sweat and Gerard's mop of hair facing him was shining with dampness too.

Frank felt Gerard explode gloriously into his hand, sticky and wet, exulting a long and breathy moan, his chest palpating, evidently exhausted. Frank gave one last swift thrust, harder than the previous and shut his eyes as he came, riding out the sensation of the orgasm with his head thrown back. They stayed there, unmoving for what seemed like a long time, panting and fatigued, perhaps in pain in Gerard's case, savouring the moment of their oneness and the glow of their damp bodies. The aftermath was intoxicating.

Sin on sin, skin on skin, thought Gerard, the first clear and articulate thought he had managed to form.

Frank slipped his now limp cock of out Gerard and cast the gluey condom to one side. They collapsed onto the bed and fell into each other's arms in a perfectly comfortable yet strange embrace, Frank's head nestled between Gerard's jaw and shoulder.

"Are you okay, Gee?" Frank whispered, scared to shatter the perfect silence.

"I'm fine, Frankie," he replied, looking down at Frank's wide, glistening eyes compassionately. "That was..."

"Perfect?"

"Yeah. It was perfect."

They remained silent for a long time, the silence and black nothingness of the room caressing their tired limbs. All that penetrated it was the soft lullaby of their rhythmic synchronised breathing, lyrical and hoarse. Nothing more needed to be said. Sleep welcomed them with warm arms, the tired smiles still etched upon their faces, the skin never moving from contact, the limbs perpetually and inexplicably combined.


End file.
